


Tossed on the Waves

by Tish



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Gen, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oh God We're Still Alive Sex, Pre-Canon, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26511055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: After a near-disastrous collision between Terror and Erebus, the two captains collide. Sexily.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Sir James Clark Ross
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: The Two Captains Fest 2020





	Tossed on the Waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [attheborder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/gifts).



Crozier slowly rubbed the balls of his palms over his closed eyes, as though he could squeeze the bastard of a headache out through his eyeballs. As he tilted his head back, a soft crack sounded along his neck and he rolled his head from side to side to relieve the tension there.

The darkness only heightened the roaring devil of the weather outside, but he opened his eyes at the soft clatter of metal nearby. Lowering his hands, he saw Jopson slowly cakewalk back along the cabin, his face half hidden in the swinging shadows created by the overhead lamp as the ship rode the chaotic waves.

Crozier glanced at the fresh coffee pot Jopson had set down securely behind the guard rail on the sideboard and murmured something under his breath.

Instantly, Jopson turned. “Sir?”

Crozier smiled through his weariness, repeating himself, “I said you're a good lad. You have good ears to hear me over all that going on outside.”

Jopson paused, worry written over his face, before he spoke again. “You really should retire to your bed, you're exhausted.”

“Just keep bringing fresh coffee, Jopson. I can sleep once we're out of this,” Crozier replied, his voice soft and raw.

“Shall I pour another cup?” Jopson asked, one hand steadying himself against the table.

“Yes, then I should get up there again,” Crozier said distantly, eyes raising to the ceiling, desperately trying to see through up the the deck and further up to clear skies.

***

The drunken lurching of the ship was something Crozier could handle, as was the driving sea spray lashing against his face. The whistle and howl of the wind, he was used to, but the sound of the collision was something he never wanted to hear again, even as it echoed in his mind. He never realised wood and metal could make those infernal shrieks as they crunched and smashed together.

He'd shouted himself hoarse again as he directed his crew to save the ships from tearing each other apart in those terrifying seconds and minutes. The lanterns provided barely enough light to see nearby crewmen, let along those up on the rigging. The wildly dancing lanterns on _Erebus_ were tiny pricks of light in the haze, seemingly further than the stars. Crozier wished upon those stars, wished for the safety of both ships, or at least for _Erebus_ to make it through, if the toll of losing _Terror_ needed to be paid.

He regained his voice and bellowed against the wind, yelling as though he could smash the iceberg with nothing but his voice. From far away in that starscape of lanterns, Captain Ross returned his yells. Crozier felt his blood run again at that voice. His heart pounding with new vigour, Crozier yelled to his men. “Yes! We're getting clear. Keep going!”

***

The icebergs were like malevolent ghosts as the ships struggled through the pack. A new shift of tired men had made their way up, taking over to let their friends collapse into some semblance of sleep. Still, Crozier stayed on deck, battling through his fatigue, his mind racing as he planned their way out. The deepest dark of the night had given way to a slate-grey cast as dawn began, revealing a little more of the shattered remains of the spar before them.

Crozier had propped himself against a mast as the ship rose and fell amongst the smaller bergs in their path, looking up now and again as the men in the crow's nest yelled down reports.

“Captain?” Jopson's voice came from the nearby gloom.

Crozier turned to see his steward holding up a mug covered with a small tin plate, bracing himself against the other side of the mast. “You get below. I don't want my best steward to get washed overboard,” he yelled as he took the covered mug.

“Gladly, sir,” Jopson called back as he stared wide-eyed at the wreckage in front of them, then he was gone.

Fortified by the fresh brew, Crozier squinted at the horizon, urging the sun to come up and the atrocious weather to sod off.

***

The sea was still rough, but by now it was much more manageable. The sun was just a pale yellow circle set low against a dreary grey sky, but at least it shed light on their situation. To Crozier, it was a beautiful sight, compared to the horror of the last few hours. Then an even more welcome sight lit upon his eyes as _Erebus_ came into view from behind a nearby berg and Captain Ross stood waving from the deck.

“James,” Crozier's heart lightened as he whispered, lifting his telescope to his eye. At this distance he couldn't see Ross's face, but he knew it would be as drawn and tired as his own. As soon as it was practical, he could row over, but for now the flags had to convey their reports. _How could a code flag even approach the ability to say I'm so relieved you're alive?_ Crozier mused silently.

***

The ice began to thin out as they slowly limped northwards to Port Stanley. The weather was still treacherous enough to keep a rowboat from being dispatched between ships, so flags and bellowed messages had to do.

Crozier had finally relented to Jopson's urging and slept in his bed, dreaming fitfully. Waking now and again, he started to remember fragments of each dream and who was featured in them all. “James,” Crozier whispered, falling into another dream.

Crozier found himself able to direct his dream as Ross took him in his arms, embracing him tightly. Crozier could smell soap and felt Ross's beard bristling against his cheek as they moved in each others' arms. As their bodies touched, Crozier felt something brush against his thigh, so close to his prick. He lowered a hand to feel James's bulge, stiffening at his touch, feeling his own prick harden. James's voice was a soft buzz as he spoke into Crozier's neck, is own hands starting to move down to take Crozier's prick, as it knocked against the table--

“Time to get up, sir.” The knocking started again.

_No!_

“Sir, you did ask to be woken up at seven. It's a minute after seven now,” Jopson's voice drove away Ross and the dream into a collapsing cloud of darkness.

Crozier opened his eyes with a slow moan, grateful for the blanket still covering his erection. “Yes, Jopson. I”m already up,” he muttered sourly. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Yes, I'll fetch it now,” Jopson said as he set down the water jug, before beating a hasty retreat.

***

“Good Lord, you look terrible, old man,” Captain Ross said as soon as he stepped on deck of the _Terror_. “I'm grateful that I'm able to still say that to you,” he added in a warmer tone.

Crozier shook his hand, unwilling to let go. “As am I. We both would have ended our expedition back there, if not for two magnificent crews.”

They ambled over inspect the damage, marvelling that no lives were lost. Crozier watched as Ross took the time to speak to each crewman, seeing the genuine care in his eyes as he listened to the damage and repair reports. In turn, he saw the respect and love shine from his crew. Laughter broke out here and there, driving out the last of the stress of the last few days.

Settling into Crozier's great-cabin, Ross waited patiently as Jopson poured the tea, inspecting the biscuit selection with a smile of approval.

Shuffling in his seat, Crozier sighed, then spoke, “Jopson, I was very short with you this morning. Let me apologise.”

“Nothing to apologise for, sir,” Jopson replied smoothly as he set the teapot back.

“If Commander Crozier has been brutalising you, you can come and be my steward,” Ross said brightly.

“Captain Ross will do nothing of the sort,” Crozier replied, finally finding a smile. “He treats his stewards abominably.”

Jopson looked from one captain to another, then carefully chose his words. “It would be an honour to serve under you, Captain Ross, however, as you are a taller man, requiring more fabric for your clothing, there's more to launder. I must, therefore, reluctantly decline your generous offer.”

As Ross laughed into his cup, Crozier nodded to Jopson, eyes shining with good humour. “Thank you, Jopson. Please see we aren't disturbed for now. Unless you have a pile of laundry to see to?”

***

They sat in silence for a moment or two, Ross swirling the last bit of tea around his cup. “It's a strange thing to laugh like this, after the abject horrors of the days past.”

“We survived, it's a relief,” Crozier agreed.

Ross's cup made a soft tap as he set it down on the table, his hand resting so close to Crozier's. Looking down at it brought Crozier's dreams back and he felt his mouth go dry, despite the tea.

“Frank,” Ross's voice was barely a breath as he moved his hand to gently clutch at Crozier's wrist.

Crozier was keenly aware of the heat and pressure against his skin and he stared at their hands for a second, before taking Ross's other hand in his, feeling the starched coat fabric and the smooth cotton before finding the skin below.

He lifted his eyes to watch Ross as he moved his fingers along Crozier's arm, savouring every sensation. Ross's sudden movement in to kiss Crozier felt like it took a year, and he spent every day of it drunk on the sweet feeling as he kissed back.

They found themselves standing and pushing themselves together as they staggered sideways to Crozier's bed-cabin. Huddled inside the doorway lent a small, extra piece of privacy as they kissed again, coming apart to seek the answers to the questions in the other's eyes.

Pulling James's head to his own, Francis moved his own to feel every beard hair scrape against his cheek and neck as James left a trail of small kisses there. He let the aroma of the tea drift over them and pushed his body closer to James's.

Ross started to rub against his thigh, each slow movement joined by a small kiss, just enough to make Francis's prick move with a small twitch.

Mind racing, Francis made a play for James's prick, feeling the thickness grew at his touch, the soft laughter he got in return emboldened him and he rubbed along the length with the palm of his hand, following it with by raising his thigh to push against it.

James was quick to drive a hand between Francis's legs, finding the base of his bulge and squeezing his balls through his trousers. Francis moaned into James's shoulder, pressing his body down into the hand, groping for James's prick again.

James braced himself against the doorframe and pulled Francis onto a crooked knee, still with a firm grip on his sack. “You have no idea how long I wished for this, it was driving me mad, Frank.”

“I _dreamt_ of this, James,” Crozier said breathlessly as he let the friction of Ross's trouser-leg burn against him. He fumbled for the fastenings of James's trousers, resisting the urge to tear and rend the fabric.

Twisting a little, James tried to help Francis with the fastenings, but was hampered by his own lust and he didn't notice he'd ripped a button off.

“Don't stop, I'm hard to go,” Francis hissed as James returned his attentions to manhandling his prick.

Francis managed to slip his hand partway inside James's trousers, but gave up and started pummelling him from over the fabric. “God, I want you so much.”

“You have me well in hand, old man,” James said into his collar.

Francis groaned through a laugh as he kept thrusting along James's thigh. “Sweet Jesus, don't say that!”

“Just finish me otherwise I'll have to run a flag up it,” James moaned, shifting a little.

Francis moaned again, a mournful sob, trying to stave off the inevitable. “ _Damn it._ ” He stopped riding James's thigh, but kept on at his prick, his breathing ragged.

James still slowly rubbed at Francis, even though he was rapidly deflating, adding kisses to salve Francis's disappointment. He managed to loosen his trousers enough for Francis to slide both hands in and let him frig him off without encumbrance, watching Francis's fascinated face as he worked away, revelling in the heat of his two-handed grasp.

Francis found his hands enveloped by James's, just as he came, the heat of his issue pooling in the hands and running through their fingers. James moved in for a long kiss, passionate and rough as they stood so close together in silence.

After a time, they reluctantly parted, washing themselves and stood watching the flames of the open stove.

“We should do this again, Frank,” James finally roused himself to speak, as a bell rang.

Francis grunted his agreement. “I'd like that very much. Just without the iceberg, please.”

James gently clasped a hand to Francis's shoulder, adding, “and without the broken spar, one hopes.”


End file.
